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It’s to raise money for two damn fine charities: Rape Crisis, and Backlash, which provides legal assistance for people being monitored under there UK’s demented censorship laws.

As a non-Brit I’m supporting Backlash because the UK censorship laws are a thinly veiled pre-text for the government to filter their citizen’s access to the internet. That doesn’t just affect the UK (where about half this blog’s readership comes from) It affects all of us, as our governments will be watching the UK experiment. If they get away with it, then other governments will end internet freedom as well.

So, as my contribution, I’m going to write for 12 hours on Saturday, pumping out as much sexual material as I can, of the kind many governments won’t like. =

What I’d like you lovely, lively people to do, please is gohere, and support Smutathon, with your donation.

The wave had nearly crashed and toppled, carrying her with it in a swirling fall of white foam. She opened her mouth and yowled in celebration and terror. She was going to come, and it was too big, and she was too high to fall.

She said, “Ooohhh.” The effort to control herself, to stop that orgasm in its tracks – she couldn’t have managed that, once. But she fought for and won control. For her Master.

Her Master picked up the hairbrush. I’ll give you two minutes, then you can try again, darling. But … the next two minutes are going to hurt you.” She felt him press the hairbrush against her left cheek. So flat it was, and so hard.

Smutathon is where a bunch of erotic writers around the globe get together, and type their keyboards out, creating lots of wicked but well-written smut.

You sponsor us, so we know we have your wind behind our sails. The money goes to two absolutely essential charities, Backlash UK – which provides pro-bono legal advice and campaigns for legal sexual freedom for consenting adults – and Rape Crisis England and Wales.

I’ve been thinking of what I’ll write.

I was going to finish the novel, but the closing pages of the book, as planned, contain no sex whatsoever. So instead I’m going to start a story I’ve been meaning to tell for a couple of years, about an incident in a bids club, late one night. Though that’d take more than 5,000 words, which is my target. So maybe I’ll think of a new, concentratedly sexy story, that fits 5,000 words like a glove. Drop in on 1 July to find out!

But you don’t have to wait to 1 July to visit to pledge or donate! Do it now! (Please.)

I rushed to him, and I couldn’t stop. He caught me and folded his arms round me. I lifted my head up and he kissed me. I kissed him. He had a strong face, with the stubble coming through. His breath smelled of mint. It felt so good. How long we stayed like that I don’t know, but then he stepped back just a little.

He started to undo the buttons on my shirt. I just look at him, longing, while he undressed me, took off my tie, and then the shirt. I was naked, except for my shoes and socks, and my bra.

“Now turn round, Maddie.”

I did, and I felt him undo the bra and take it off.

Then he took my hands in his and pulled them together, behind my back. “Don’t move,” he said, and he tied my hands together, behind my back, with my own school tie. I gasped, wide-eyed with the wonder of that. I’d been helpless before anyway, but to be tied was a whole new level. He didn’t need me to choose to obey him, now. I was at his mercy. My cunt felt … empty, wanting. I needed his fingers back, or better yet his thing.

Then he smacked my bottom. I gasped. I was so tender there, and the smack re-awakened all that soreness. He spanked me another five times, without speaking. I trembled, trying to hold myself still for him.

“Now get down on your knees, Maddie. You know why, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, sir!” So, he was going to let me suck his cock. I’d heard girls talk about feeling a boy get more and more excited and then spurting their salty stuff into their mouths. Then they’d swallow it. I wondered what he’d taste of.

I crouched as low as I could, then fell forward onto my knees. It was awkward with my hands tied. My face was level with his …

I watched him unzip. I’d hoped he was going to take his pants off, but it seemed that I was only going to be allowed to touch his cock. I leaned forward, to kiss it through the material of his pants.

He let me for a few seconds. Then he pulled my head back, with his hand in my hair. He made an adjustment to his pants with his other hand and suddenly there was his cock. It was the first I’d seen. Except for my brothers after a shower, when we were very young.

But his cock was very different. It seemed huge, and it pointed straight at me. It wanted me. It needed me. I leaned forward to take it, and my hair pulled, because he’d neither let go nor moved his hand. I had to push forward, hurting my own scalp, so I could kiss the end.

Smutathon is a group of erotica authors, sex bloggers, sex educators and friends who have decided to raise some money for organisations we believe in.

On 1 July, we’re going to have a joint, international session, each writer writing for a solid 12 hours, producing the best steamy writing they possibly can. We’ll share some of our writing on our blogs as we go, and we may even publish an e-book anthology at the end.

We’re splitting the money equally between two amazing organisations:

1) Backlash

For internet freedom, and freedom for kinksters to write and produce images!

Backlash campaigns for sexual freedom for consenting adults and provides legal support for sexual minorities who are unfairly targeted by outdated and nonsensical “obscenity” laws. Among other things, they have been responsible for getting the ridiculous ‘tiger porn case’ (look it up) struck down, and for campaigning to get amendments added to the Digital Economy Bill to make it less harmful to consenting adults engaging in safe and victimless fringe sexual practices.

2) Rape Crisis England & WalesRape Crisis is a feminist organisation that exists to promote the needs and rights of women and girls who have experienced sexual violence, to improve services to them and to work towards the elimination of sexual violence. Rape Crisis Centres are women-led and offer a range of support, advocacy, counselling and information, and also have separate services for male survivors.

Please support us in helping these two brilliant causes. Sexual freedom for consenting adults and freedom from sexual violence are human rights.

Everything had been impact and flurried movement and cries while her Master spanked her. He’d used the hairbrush, because he liked the uncontrolled way she responded when the brush landed. But he’d put the brush down at last, when all she knew was sex and pain and heat. Now there was peace, of a kind.

Her Master had said she had two minutes to come, or she’d get the hairbrush again. This time he would go a little harder.

She could feel the sun on her left thigh, but she squirmed out of the light. Her fingers worked, her arm under her tummy, fingertips wet with her own arousal. Her body tensed, and she lost awareness of time, and space: she couldn’t have said where she was.

She pushed forward, her body riding her own fingers onward. Would she come before her time was up? She didn’t know. Or care. Only that sweetness, in her skin and in her cunt, driving her on, burrowing into that quiet and soothing dark.

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #96 Start with therules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to theRSS feed for updates!

I kept telling myself that, over and over, because it was such a strange thing, and so wonderful.

It meant he’d wanted me as much as I wanted him. He’d looked after my pleasure. No one had ever done that for me before.

I was his. If he’d told me he wanted to cane me I’d have taken off the rest of my clothes and bent over for him. If he wanted to fuck me I’d have aid on my back or own my front, on the carpet or on the desk, whatever he wanted. If he wanted me to suck his cock I’d have knelt for him, and let him into my mouth. I’d never sucked a cock before, but I’d heard other girls talk about it. I knew he’d teach me the rest and make sure I pleased him. That thought made my rock myself across his lap. I moaned.

He put his hand back on the bare skin of my bottom. His touch was so cool against my burning skin. “Maddie? Are you all right?”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you for my spanking. I needed -” I thought about how to say what I’d needed, and I chickened out a bit. “I needed you to make me behave.”

“Yes, you did.” But he sounded amused. He knew I’d started to say something much more personal. “Well, we should make sure you get what you need, shouldn’t we?”

His hand started to rub little circles on my left cheek. I sighed. It was so lovely.

“I hope you do, sir. And …” I lost my nerve.

“And what, Maddie?” His hand pressed down on my bottom: a warning. He could repeat my spanking easily enough.

“And is there, is there anything I can do for you, sir?” My heart beat hard, once I’d said it. I was offering myself to him. What if he didn’t want me?

His hand slipped down again, and he caressed my cunt. Just along the lips, over and over, getting his fingers wet with me. I’d spread my legs for him as far as I could, and now I crawled forward a couple of inches and lifted my bottom so he could watch my cunt as he stroked me. I could feel his cock pressing against my hip. It seemed to be trembling. He was throbbing, with desire for me.

I said, “We’ve already broken all the rules, sir. And I want to.” It was the bravest thing I’ve ever said.

“Yes,” he said, after a pause. A long pause while my world hung in the balance. “You can close the curtains for me.”

I felt a second’s disappointment. He wanted me to re-organize his office? Then I realised what he meant, and I could have sung. I got up, making no attempt to cover myself, and closed the curtains. There were people out there, playing basketball, but no-one was looking at the offices.

Then I turned to him, naked from the waist down and knowing that he liked everything he saw. I said, “Sir?”

Note

This is one seriously unethical headmaster. Both headmasters in this story belong in the bar-y place, the stripey hole, the jewel-case of infamy.

I found the scenario incredibly hard to write at first. It originally started as an agreement to write the male perspective on a story that appeared in the Sex is my New Hobby blog.

But Zoe stopped writing her story, and this has gone off in other directions since then.

But I don’t feel quite as uncomfortable with the wicked teacher/naughty schoolgirl scenario any more.

Like Christian Grey, the man in this story has no idea of what ethical consent might be, or why you shouldn’t do anything without it. (He has her consent, but there’s no way it’s ethical.) So the events in this story should not happen in the real world, just like Christian Grey shouldn’t strap his girlfriend without informed consent,

I won’t talk about the obvious fact that the 50 Shades books are badly written. I’ve mocked them before. Now I’m only saying that Grey is a a lust object for some women, and he’s not a role model. for anyone

Mr Grey’s Amazing Shades. He has another 49 pairs.

But during some discussions about Mr Grey and his Amazing Shades, I came to agree with the women who skipped most of those books but read the spankings and fuckings.

If he’s a character in an erotic story, a fictional character isn’t obliged to be ethical. He’s just obliged to be sexy. Taboo or no taboo.

There is a sense in which the headmaster, rather than Maddie, hot girl though she may be, is the object of desire in this part of the story.

POV

By the way, this is a story within a story. The main narrator runs the school where Maddie works as a secretary. Maddie is telling him the story of how she came to lose her virginity, back at the school she attended. And he is reporting to the readers the story that she told him.

So although it appears to be female POV, it’s filtered somewhat by the version of what she said that her employer is giving.

(And all of them are characters made up by me. Though I’ve known people similar to Maddie, and bits of them keep getting incorporated into her. I have a sense of who Maddie is, and she’s started to feel somewhat real, to me. So I’m trying to be true to her, as best I can.)

I’m keeping to four posts a week, at the moment. I looked back a couple of years, back in this blog, and found I was doing seven posts a week.

They tended to be shorter, because I’d write something, get carried away as I always do, and it would turn out longer than I’d expected. So I’d chop it into two or three parts, and run them on three successive days.

But now I’m writing a novel, and I’m keeping at it because I want to finish it soon. There are five parts, and the final part is expected to be relatively short. I’m on Part 5 now, and I can smell the finish line. I feel triumphant!

I’d like to do more discussion pieces, think pieces, for this blog.

But at the moment I can’t think of anything but Rome and a rich Scots girl, who paints but seems only able to sell her art to men who fancy her, and how she breaks through to a wider audience. I can’t afford to do any thinking except about how to make that sexier and funnier.

I just wrote a scene (for Part 4) in which the hero fetches his beautiful but mildly drunk girlfriend out of Trevi Fountain. It adds absolutely nothing to the plot, I think, but it belongs in the book just the same.

In honour of that scene, here are some photos of girls in Roman fountains.

The top two are from a news story that said Romans were “outraged” to find pretty underdressed girls in a fountain. Bullshit, I have to say. Possibly a couple of lemon-sucking Romans somewhere went all crinkly-mouthed about it, but Romans in general are overwhelmingly pro-pretty girl.They even seem to like underdressed, wet girls. Go figure.

Don’t let the Murdoch press (or Dacre press in this instance) tell you otherwise. In fact, don’t let them tell you anything.

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